Imperfect, but loved
by Soniaham
Summary: Lily is having a bad day. She hates herself, and is convinced that everyone else hates her too. But she will found that one person doesn't hate her. And maybe that person's opinion was all that mattered. JILY ONESHOT


_A/N:Just a one-shot that came to mind. Please review and thanks for reading._

You're walking down the halls, as innocently as always, thinking about the History of Magic essay that you will have to do in the afternoon. You don't notice Claire Grover until you slam into her.

The word "Bitch" is the only comment she makes before walking away, taking good care to sway her hips even more than usual.

You have always found it weird, the way Claire always calls you a bitch when she's the one who always looks like she has forgotten half her clothes. But you don't say anything,do you? You never do.

So you pick yourself off the floor, try to swallow down the humiliation, and walk to your next class as if nothing has happenned, head held high.

Your usual partner in Potions, Remus Lupin, is missing, and Slughorn makes you sit with Severus Snape. He was once your best friend, remember? Remember Sev? Remember the sweet fragile boy who first told you you were a witch? Remember how you used to lay together in the grass? Remember how you used to sneak out at night to talk to him? How he said that being in different houses wouldn't change a thing?

But that was Old Sev, dear flower. This is New Sev you're sitting next to. The New Sev doesn't tell you that being Muggleborn doesn't make a difference. New Sev spends the whole hour whispering "Mudblood" under his breath.

You practically run out the doors, but it's not you lucky day, sweet Lily, and you once again slam into someone. Marie Burdock. One of Claire's minions, she never skips a chance to laugh at you.

"Ugly little slut." She whispers in your ear, making you shiver. But you keep walking, acting like everything's okay.

Later, as you're heading down to lunch you hear a whisper: "Look at the fat redhead." It's followed by high-pitched giggles, the type that should only be heard in nightmares. But this isn't a nightmare. This is you.

And that's when you start thinking. Claire hates you, New Sev hates you, Marie hates you. And you start thinking that they must be right. Something must be wrong with you.

So you skip lunch and go to the Heads Common Room, where you find a letter waiting for you. It's a letter from your sister, announcing that she has gotten engaged... and that you're not invited to the wedding. _Why?_ You ask yourself. "Because you're a friek" she explains in the next paragraph.

This is too much for you, you think as you head up to your room. You lie down, close your eyes, but you can't fall asleep. You can hear the words, over and over again: "Bitch", "Mudblood", "Ugly" "Friek." You see them each time you close your eyes, you hear them whispering at you.

Once you let the first tear fall, it's like you can't stop it. You stop trying to control yourself and cry into your pillow. You cry because of what they said, but you also cry because you can't help but hate yourself. You hate every single inch, from the too bright hair, to the short legs. Not forgetting about the ugly redhead temper, you think as you scream into your pillow.

When you're done, it still hasn't gone away. You realize you haven't managed to turn the feelings off, like you wanted to. Your hair is still bright, your legs are still short and your temper is still there. Only now your face is wet from the tears, your voice is almost gone and you have an empty feeling in your stomach.

So you get up and go to the bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror, looking at every single hated detail carefully. The hair, the freckles, the paleness, the tears that just won't stop falling, the legs. The belly.

Your gaze stops there, in the soft roundness of your stomach. You remember how your mother used to tell you that the slight belly you had made you much prettier than all the skinny girls. She was always there to make you feel better, but she isn't here now, is she? She's gone, you haven't seen her since the night you said goodbye in the hospital, almost a year ago. And she isn't coming back. And your smooth belly is still there, mocking you, laughing at you.

You drop to the floor slowly, tears running freely again. They race down your wet cheeks, falling from your eyes, running away. Even your tears don't want to be with you.

The door opens, but you don't look up. Nobody will care about what ugly Lily is crying about, you think bitterly.

But the footsteps come near you, they stop by where you're sitting, you can see the feet now. So you dare to look up, and you see _him._ You remember the way he used to ask you out every single day. He used to make you feel so good about yourself, so _wanted_. The way he looked at you, he talked to you, he showed off when in front of you. But he got tired of your constant rejection, and now he left you too. He doesn't want you anymore. Nobody does.

You realize you're staring at him, and your gaze drops to the floor. But he doesn't go away. He sits beside you and puts an arm around your shoulder, pulling your small body, round belly and everything, close to him. He doesn't ask, he just sits there quietly, arm wrapped around you while he strokes your hair softly.

Eventually, you are the one who says the first words.

"You don't have to stay." You say, head still buried in his shirt.

"I do have to."

That makes you shake your head, but inside you do want him to stay, don't you?

He places a finger under your chin, making you lift your head to look away from his now wet shirt, to his eyes. James Potter has always been talked about. For his Quidditch, his charm, his body, his jokes, even his hair. But you've never heard anything about his eyes. Gazing straight into them though, you realize that they are special. Hidden behind thin glasses, they gaze at you curiously, always with a small sparkle in them, but somehow keeping a serious expression.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" He asks carefully.

You don't know if you should tell him, you don't even know how to explain. In the end, your mouth acts of its own accord, blurting random things, trying to express what you feel inside. But you're such a mess inside, it's hard to unravel the knots.

You try, though. You tell him about Claire, and New Sev, and Marie, and Tuney, and you tell him about your short legs and your round belly, and even your redhead temper. You cry hard, and he just holds you tight. You take a deep breath before saying the last part.

"And- and everybody hates me, even _I _hate me, because I'm ugly and fat and a Mudblood and a friek, and nobody is ever going to love me, and I'm going to die alone, because I'm such a horrible person!"

You bury yourself into his shirt again, and you can feel him take a deep breath, before he starts stroking your hair again, whispering in your ear.

"Lily, listen to me. Nothing's wrong with you, you're beautiful and smart and kind and important, and all those who insult you are just angry because they know you're better than them. And you're not going to die alone, Lily, you're not. Look at me."

He pulls your chin up again.

"I would do anything for you. I would die for you. Lily, are you listening? I _love _you Lily, do you hear me? I love you."

He buries his face in your hair now, saying it again and again. "I love you" "I love you" "I love you" "I love you."

You become daring now, and gently lift his head up, cupping his face with your hands.

"What would you do if I told you that I love you too.?"

He looks at you, confused, before shrugging lightly.

"Dunno, I guess I would kiss you or something."

You smile slightly as you press your lips lightly to his, hands still cupping his face.

When you pull away, you look at him again, before whispering.

"I love you too."

His eyes widen for a second, before he grins and kisses you again.

"For real?" He asks.

"Yeah." You whisper back.

And it's true. You love him. You love every single part of him. You love his eyes and his hair and his charm and his voice and the way his nose is slightly crooked and the tiny scar in his hand. You love _him._

He loves you too. He loves you, even with your bright hair and pale skin. With your ugly temper and your round belly.

And maybe, just maybe, those small things make him love you even more.


End file.
